


When Two Hearts Meet, The Wolf is Resting.

by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/pseuds/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two hearts part, the wolf is re-awakened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Two Hearts Meet, The Wolf is Resting.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written very quickly and is unbeta-ed, in response to the fact that [](http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/profile)[**deadflowers5**](http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/)'s gorgeous picture for the [](http://originalbigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://originalbigbang.livejournal.com/)**originalbigbang** reverse bang ended up with no fic to go with it at the last moment, and I felt that it deserved something.  
>  **Link to Art:** <http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/121013.html#cutid1>  
> **Artist:** [](http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/)**deadflowers5**  
>  **Genre:** Creature!fic (werewolf), Romance  
>  **Pairing(s):** M/M, Ryan/Marc. (Brief ref to possible previous M/F).  
>  **Warnings:** Intimations of sex and violence off-screen.  
> 

Ryan's itching hand ran over the familiar page. Sally had shown him the book when she had first taken him in. She had found him naked, shivering and wounded in a back alley, as she had crept through dawn streets also in recovery from the full moon. He had wanted so desperately to save her, as her human months had shrunk. He had even proposed marriage to her. Her answering laugh had been startling, but when he had seen the damp twinkle to her eyes, he had wondered whether it hadn't been a cover for a sob.

"This isn't about certificates and rings, Ry," she'd said. "Only love can save me."

"But I do love you." She was his mother/sister/mentor/friend/family. She was his everything by then and his heart was breaking. That was love.

"Wrong sort of love."

They had not spoken of it again, and the following month she had not returned to their home after the full moon. She was out there, roaming the woods, chasing pets and sheep, on four paws forever now. She would never laugh with him again.

He had met Marc on the morning after a transformation, too. Two years after losing Sally, eighteen months ago. Sally had advised him to keep stashes of clothing dotted across the city, and around its perimeter, so that he wouldn't have to run naked back to their home. He had been dressing from one of these hides, in an allotment by the river, when his shoulder had been grabbed.

"And what do you think you're up to?"

Ryan's head had spun round. He was tired, sore, disorientated. The man had been portly, and middle-aged with bad breath. All Ryan had really taken in had been the uniform, though. Police.

"It's my stuff," Ryan whispered.

"That bag of rags? I bet it is, son. The nurses in that residential block up there put in a complaint, though. Lad fitting your description sneaking around, exposing himself."

"I never! I just come in here to get me stuff."

Not even proper police. Ryan's eyes adjusted and his brain picked up focus: human focus. Special Constables. Two of them, the other standing quietly behind. They were nothing but faceless uniforms to Ryan then as he stared at his own dirty bare feet.

"You on something? Look at the state of you."

"I'm not a junky. I was out last night, that's all."

"Been peeking in the windows at the student nurses getting dressed, have you?"

Ryan's guts began the ice clench of panic. If he was set up for this then he'd have no alibi. He'd been racing across the moors in fur and claws all night, howling at the full moon. He couldn't prove it, nor would anyone believe him if he could.

"Drop it, Stan," the other copper said. His voice was deep, assured, relaxed.

Ryan looked at the man's face. Such a face. A man. No female softness to it: all hard lines and stubble. Just the face to melt Ryan's heart. The man looked back at him and smiled gently.

"We'll give you a lift home," he'd said.

"Check out your story, see what we can find there," Stan sneered.

"See you safe back," Marc had corrected.

On the car journey, Ryan had tried to remember what sort of state he'd left the old place in. Sally's place. That window was still broken on the second floor. He picked up odd days' work when he could; there was no way of holding down a proper job with the sickies he'd have to pull. He hadn't been able to afford to get that window fixed yet. Boarded-up window, garden full of weeds: they would probably think it was a squat. He couldn't prove any right to live there.

During the week or so leading up to the moon, he became more feral. It was only when he returned, spent, on a morning like this that he would notice the food walked into the carpets, the stench of the bathroom, the furniture he'd broken in his fits of rage.

Marc had seen him in and he'd said nothing. The next evening, he'd returned in civilian clothes, _just to check that Ryan was alright_ , and the place had been civilised again by then. When Ryan had apologised for the state of it the day before, Marc had said, "We all have off days."

He had stayed longer that evening than either of them had expected. Two days later they had gone to see the movie they had chatted about then. The next day, they had gone to the pub. Then there had been a Sunday kicking a ball around in the park, a Wednesday watching a match at Ryan's place, long looks and lots of brushings of hands.

The next full moon, the wolf had been quieter, the transformation hadn't lasted as long, nor hurt as much. Two days after the full moon, Ryan had gone to Marc's place for the first time, and met his parents. They had stopped on the walk home that night, staring into each other's eyes, and fallen into their first kiss.

Ryan had spent the rest of that month kissing Marc, and when the full moon came, the wolf did not. He had pulled Sally's old book from the shelf, and he had turned back to that familiar page. The crescent moon, with the sword laid over it, and the words: _When two hearts meet the wolf is resting._ He had told Marc that he loved him the next day, and Marc had confirmed that his love was returned.

Eighteen months. A year and a half with no pre-moon rages, no itching in his bones. A year and a half without waking naked in strange places with the taste of blood in his mouth. Better than that, Ryan had had a year and a half of soft touches, kisses, sex, consideration, fun, understanding, of caring for and being cared for. A year and a half of Marc.

But there were always questions Ryan couldn't answer, secrets he had to keep from the man he loved. Marc knew too much about the human evil in the world. He was drawing back; he was protecting himself. Now Ryan could feel the itch in his bones, the sharpening of his teeth and the anger boiling in him. This full moon he would be a wolf again. The creature had only been resting. Worse than that, Ryan knew that this meant that Marc no longer loved him.


End file.
